


A Ride Out A Ways

by MizuShade



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Closure, post death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22566064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizuShade/pseuds/MizuShade
Summary: His death had been a shock to everyone at camp. The kid deserved better than he had gotten. At the very least, Arthur could do this for him.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	A Ride Out A Ways

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm currently playing through Red Dead Redemption 2 for the first time (haven't played the first one yet) and out of everything that has happened so far, Kieran's death has affected me the most. He was such a sweet kid! This story is kind of my way of working through my grief of his death because it hit me really hard.

He would be the first to admit that he never slept well. Hadn’t in so many years that he had forgotten what it was like to get a full night’s sleep. It was fine. He’d make do with the short naps he caught when the fire’s light dwindled. Besides, between the noise of camp and his nightmarish memories of how many lives he had taken, it wasn’t like there was much sleep to be had. There were watches to take up and idiots to keep alive when they insisted on going on pointless raids or targets of high security. Then there was keeping the camp fed and all the chores the other men just straight up ignored most days. Or mourning those they lost.

The sight of Kieran’s headless body riding up would haunt him the rest of his days. He had seen a lot of death in his life. Lost a lot of friends too. Sean’s death in particular hit him hard since the weasel had snuck under his skin and was more like an annoying little brother than the irritating little shit he really was. But Kieran...that boy deserved better.

He had not been kind to Kieran like he should have been. It felt like just yesterday that he had chased down the shivering kid on that god forsaken mountain. Tied to a tree, starved, and threatened with gelding for a feud he had absolutely nothing to do with. The boy didn’t have a mean bone in his body but still saved his life without hesitation. Proved to them all that while he didn’t want to be a part of any gang, he would stand beside them. The hesitant smile of his grew every day as he found his place within the family. 

He was going to be missed.

“Arthur!” Mary-Beth's hushed voice was his only warning before the woman barged into his impromptu room, “We have a problem!”

“Mary-Beth?” Arthur quickly sat up on his cot as she crossed the room, “Shouldn’t you be trying to sleep?”

She shook her head, tears clinging catching the dim light of his lantern, “I can’t. Not after-”

A sniffle escaped from behind her tiny fingers. Ah, that was right. He had seen Mary-Beth and Kieran start getting close. It had been sweet to watch, making him almost reminiscent of him and his own Mary. 

“A-Anyway, I went to where Swanson buried Kieran only to find a bunch of those wild boars trying to dig him up!” Mary-Beth cried.

“Damn,” Arthur ran a hand through his hair, “The idiot must  of not buried him deep enough. All the scavengers are  gonna have a hay day digging him up.”

“We got to do something, Arthur!” the poor woman begged, “The least we can do for that boy is to let him rest now!”

He quirked an eyebrow, looking the woman up and down before sighing, “What do you propose we do?”

“Isn’t there any place where he’d be at peace?” she whimpered.

Pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment, Arthur reached into his nearby satchel for his journal. Flipping through the pages for a few moments, he cracked his neck before he stood up, “Sure. Go get changed into something comfortable for travel, miss. I know where we can take him.”

Mary-Beth's eyes welled up with tears as she threw herself into his chest for a moment, “Oh thank you Arthur!”

“Yeah,  yeah ,” huffed  Arthur , leading her out of his room, “I  gotta give Dutch a heads up.”

“Of course!” the woman quickly rushed down the stairs. 

Taking a second to let a slight coughing fit pass, Arthur walked over to the main bedroom on the floor. Dutch was never one to be the nicest when his rest was disturbed but he would rather hear from Arthur before he snuck off for days on end. Opening the door slowly, Arthur wasn’t surprised in the least to see Dutch sitting near the window, using the moon to read. Seeing the death of a comrade always hit hard. Worse when the death came via  Colm O’Driscoll’s men.

“Did you happen to hear anything Mary-Beth and I were talking about?” Arthur whispered from the door. He had no desire to disturb Molly if he could help it.

“Just that she came up sniffling and left quite quickly,” Dutch gave him a knowing look.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Arthur sighed, “...pigs are already digging up Kieran.”

Dutch paused, slightly closing his book, “What do you plan on doing, Arthur?”

“Mary-Beth probably won’t rest easy until we give him a proper place in the ground,” Arthur shrugged, “I know a place that he should be good.  Gonna take her and his horse with me and sell off the nag while we’re out.”

“The horse?”

“The kid loved that horse more than anything. Don’t feel  right to keep it where it could get shot to hell,” Arthur stated, leaning against the door.

“...We don’t know when the  Pinkertons’ll find us again,” Dutch pointed out.

“If you all are gone by time we get back, I’ll come find  ya . Leave me a note with the brother at the chapel in Saint Denis,” Arthur waved off the concern, “I’ll try to get us back as quick as I can.”

Dutch and he made eye contact for a long minute before the former smirked, “Fine. Take Mary-Beth to get some closure and hurry back.”

Arthur nodded before heading down the stairs himself. Heading out the back, he made a stop at one of their wagons and grabbed a few blankets and a shovel. With the supplies in his arms, he rounded the corner of the house to see Mary-Beth crawling out of her wagon, dressed in a looser dress and borrowed boots. He smiled at her and motioned for her to follow. One last stop at Pearson’s wagon to grab rations for the road and then to the horses to load up. It took a moment to get  Branwen to let Arthur load the supplies on his back and tie him to his latest horse, a dark bay Andalusian he named Sangre. Them all loaded, he helped Mary-Beth onto the back of Sangre before hauling himself on. Then they were off.

The ride to the grave was quick and silent. And just like Mary-Beth had said, the local wild boars were trying to undo Swanson’s work. Jumping off his horse, Arthur chased the scavengers off with little trouble. Now came the dirty work.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Arthur whispered as he pulled the shovel from  Branwen , “I’ll try to make this quick.”

Swanson, contrary to what he assumed, had done well to make sure that the boy was buried deep enough. It was strange that the pigs were going at the grave so much. But the reason why was now moot seeing as he was pulling the corpse from the ground. Wrapping the body tightly in blankets and tying it up with his lasso, he carefully loaded his fallen comrade onto  Branwen . As for his head, he took care to wrap in its own blanket. With a look of sympathy, he held it out for Mary-Beth.

“Don’t want him to fall off on the mountain when we aren’t looking,” Arthur explained.

She paled but took the decapitated head nonetheless. With little care, he refilled the grave and pulled out the marker. Loading it and the shovel on  Branwen , Arthur returned to Sangre. He checked the tie between the horses before shooting a weak smile back at the lady in his company.

“You might want to hang on tight, miss,” Arthur gripped the reins tight, “We’ve got a lot of country to cover.”

“What?” Mary-Beth started to question before she squeaked, one hand holding onto the head and the other onto Arthur as Sangre took off.  Branwen complained for a moment before keeping speed with their gallop.

\---

In the end, Arthur admitted that he probably pushed the horses almost too hard. They crossed the marsh near camp and most of the plains towards Valentine by time the sun rose. It took most of the next day to climb through the East Grizzlies to the meadow Arthur knew laid between the ranges. There had been plenty of times that Mary-Beth complained in his ear to slow down but they were working with borrowed time. Both for the discovery of the gang back south and for Kieran’s body to be well enough to bury. Even so, hearing her gasp as she took in the fields of red wildflowers that overlooked the valley below was somewhat worth the chewing his ear had received. Slowing the horses to a walk, Arthur jumped off to lead them to spot he knew to be perfect.

“Arthur,” Mary-Beth said breathlessly, “How did you know about this place?”

Arthur sighed, “It gets to be too much, Mary-Beth.  Y’know how I leave camp for days at a time? Sometimes it  ain’t on some mission. Sometimes I just get on my horse and let them take me where they want. One of those times, I was getting ready to start heading back and was chasing down an elk to bring to camp when I came to this meadow. It’s peaceful here. I can just breath here.”

“Oh Arthur,” Mary-Beth sniffled.

“Now then,” Arthur gestured to a spot at the top of one of the hills that over looked all the meadows and the valleys, “Let’s get down to business.”

“Can I help with anything?” Mary-Beth asked, hopping off Sangre.

“Gather stones that we can put on top of the grave,” Arthur said with a grunt as he pulled Kieran’s body from  Branwen . Mary-Beth nodded, setting down the boy’s head near where Arthur was doing the same with the rest of the corpse of their comrade. Taking the shovel in hand, he started the backbreaking woke of digging a grave. 

Hours later, the sun had set and life found Arthur standing almost six feet down in a grave that was not his. Miss Mary-Beth had done her job well. Just before his view dropped to just the earthen walls, she was using the skirt of his dress to carry another load of stones to a pile almost as large as Kieran. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Arthur looked up at the start of a starry sky.

“Mary-Beth?” he called out.

Her slightly grim covered face popped over the edge, “What do you need?”

He gestured around, “I think I dug it enough this time. Do you think you can help me lower him in?”

“I can certainly try,” Mary-Beth gave a firm nod.

“Just, roll him into the hole and I’ll catch him,” Arthur instructed, getting ready to possibly have a body chucked at him.

After a few not so dainty grunts and curses, what he could only assume was Kieran’s shoulders came into view. Reaching up, he helped drag the corpse the rest of the way into the hole, gently laying him on the ground. He then drew his hunting knife and freed the body from the blankets. Once he had oriented the body correctly, he called for the head. It only took a few more minutes to place the body together. Arthur took a moment to look over the boy before calling to Mary-Beth for his satchel. She lowered it down with confusion written on her face. He reached into his bag and pulled out a fully customized semi-automatic pistol with the initials  _ K.D. _ engraved on the end of the barrel. 

“What’s that?” Mary-Beth questioned from above.

“He took note of my new gun last time we spoke; seemed real impressed by it. I talked it over with Hosea and Dutch and we figured that the kid had proved his worth enough by us that he could stop worrying about any harm coming his way from us. So I figured I would ride back into town and get him his own because his revolver was a piece of shit,” Arthur stated, placing the gun on Kieran’s chest, covering it with both hands, “I figured that if he got a nice gun from one of us he’d actually believe that.”

“Arthur,” Mary-Beth whispered, voice catching.

“I should have figured something was wrong when he  weren’t at  camp when I got back,” Arthur berated himself, “The kid never left camp without one of us. I should have gone out to look for him.”

“You couldn’t have known, Arthur,” Mary-Beth reached in, running the tips of her fingers over the top of his head, “It  ain’t no use for you to be upset at yourself when the fault all lies with those O’Driscolls.”

With a sigh, he nodded, “I suppose you’re right.”

“...but for what it matters, I know he would have been  real touched,” Mary-Beth smiled, eyes watery.

Arthur didn’t say anything, instead cracking his neck before whistling for his horse, “Pass me the reins, alright?”

Sangre protested helping Arthur haul his full weight out of the hole but he managed to crawl out without destroying the grave too much. Covered in dirt and sweat, he took a moment to look over it all. Glancing at Mary-Beth, he turned to the pack he always kept on his saddle.

“C’mon miss,” Arthur grunted, “Help me set up the tent for you.”

“I can still help,” she protested, hands firm on her hips.

“Oh, I have no doubt,” Arthur snickered, “But I wouldn’t want you falling off the horse on the way back because you can’t keep your eyes open.”

She pouted but relented. Practice eased helped him set up his tent and bedroll with no issue. He debated for a moment whether he needed to start a fire but even in the mountains, it was a mild enough night that they’d be fine. If needed, he was fine handing over his jacket for the lady. 

“What about you?” she asked as she settled in the tent.

“I  gotta cover him before I can sleep,” Arthur picked up the shovel again, “Won’t take me long.”

Satisfied with that answer, Mary-Beth laid down to attempt to sleep. He waited a moment before taking a deep breath, a slight coughing fit breaking the inhale, and set to work. 

The sun had just started to rise when Mary-Beth stirred next. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she crawled from the tent to find Arthur hammering the marker in with the butt of one of his pistols. Slowly, she came to stand beside him and took a closer look at the grave. The upturned soil had all been neatly lined with the stones she had gathered. Arthur took a step back from the marker, groaning as he stretched his back. Looking closer at it, she noticed that he had taken the time to carve Kieran’s full name into it.

Arthur cleared his throat, “I know that reverend already gave him the last rights but if there is anything you’d like to say, now would be the time.”

With that, Arthur left her to her thoughts as he approached  Branwen . He pulled one of his apples from his satchel to tempt the horse. It was still distrustful of people after what happened to its rider, something Arthur completely understood. Still, a shiny red apple was too nice a treat to ignore. Nearby, Sangre nickered, probably upset that another horse was getting his treats. Once he was allowed, Arthur set about removing the bridle. He smiled as he watched it try to get used to not feeling the bit in its mouth. Now more curious about what he was doing, he didn’t fight as his saddle was removed. Brushing the exposed fur of his back, Arthur admired the horse. It wasn’t the first time he had. It was no secret to the camp that Arthur had a major soft spot for animals, many of the camp residents finding him taking time to brush down and spoil all the horses they kept.  Branwen had been no different. He was a gorgeous horse that many would be envious of. 

Patting the horse’s neck, Arthur brought his fingers to his lips. A high whistle pierced the quiet. Sangre whinnied before walking over. The Andalusian nudged its rider until Arthur pulled out an apple for it. Mary-Beth had turned at the whistle and was about to comment on the scene when several other whinnies came from the meadow below. She watched in awe as several horses she knew Arthur had owned at one time or another trotted up with a few other wary wild ones. Off the top her head, she recognized the chestnut  Sulffolk Punch named Crash, the white Shire Silver Wind, and the horse he had ridden during those hellish days stuck in the frozen mountains, the Tennessee Walker Mississippi. She knew that these horses had to have been his because they all answered to his call. Arthur had a very specific way he whistled and trained each of his horses to answer to it. Everyone at camp would tease Arthur that he could never stick with a single horse because he got too attached. Hell, she had seen him take off on foot with lasso in hand to catch an idiot that had shot too close to his horse.  So it had become  common place for him to get a horse, keep it until he realized he was too attached (which he swore every time he was  _ not _ going to keep doing), sell the horse to a good farm family or stable, and repeat. 

“Arthur?” Mary-Beth raised her voice in question.

Arthur chuckled as Mississippi tugged at his satchel and Silver Wind messed with his hair, “Mississippi is the one that I found this place with. There was a small herd that he got on with when we took a break. When I figured it was time to move on, I brought him up here and let him go. Now, whenever I can’t find a good fit for my horses, I try to make it up here to let them go. They seem happy here.”

“That’s real sweet,” Mary-Beth smile, slowly approaching to pet Crash. It had been her favorite of Arthur’s latest horses, mainly for the story that came with it. He had just stolen a coach and was making a getaway when the horses got spooked and rammed the wagon into a tree. The other horse ran off but Crash was tangled in its harness. After he had calmed her down, he took note of the whip marks on her back. Upset at her treatment, he immediately claimed her as his. She was also the most playful of his horses, often making him chase her if he didn’t hitch her well enough or stealing his hat. 

Mary-Beth giggled as she watched Crash snatch the hat from the ground nearby and trot away like it had won a prize.

“Figured that  Branwen would like to stay with his rider,” Arthur’s voice broke her thoughts, “That and I can’t think of anyone better to watch over this lot.”

Mary-Beth smiled back at the grave and nodded, “I think he’d like that a lot.”

After handing out apples to all the horses that pestered him for one, he patted  Branwen one last time before smacking its flank.

“Go on! Get on out of here!”

As  Branwen took off with an irritated sound, the rest of the herd followed suit. Arthur and Mary-Beth watched as they crossed the meadows, heading to the more wooded area. Gesturing to Sangre who stood loyally by, Mary-Beth took the hint to get on the horse. With as much ease as he had with putting up the tent, he had it taken down and put away in no time. Taking the saddle from  Branwen and propping it up against the grave marker, he took one last second to gather his thoughts.

“You know, I’ve had to bury a lot of people in my life,” Arthur mumbled, “And it never gets any easier. I just hope that...that if Swanson is right about anything, that you really are in a better place kid.”

With that, he pulled himself up onto Sangre and started to head back down through the mountains. They had made it about thirty feet before he realized he was missing something.

“Where’s my hat?” 

**Author's Note:**

> There really are (at least in my game) a bunch of wild boars that spawn right next to his grave which is just a big fat no for me. Also, the area I described in the story is my favorite spot on the map. With as much as I love all the horses in the game (let me have more than four damn it!), I headcannon that my Arthur really does let his favorite ones go up in that area. 
> 
> As a final note, I may or may not have gone to an O'Driscoll base and wrecked shop because of Kieran's death...


End file.
